Le Petit Prince
by Drucilla
Summary: A brief vignette about the one prostitute in all of France who isn't afraid of Hyde. Slash. Non-graphic.


It was a clear night on the Rue Le Peletier, and all around there were the sounds and sights of gaiety. Lights glittered from nearly every window, there was music and laughter echoing in the streets, and the few men and women who staggered on the cobblestones this late at night mounted cabs and carriages to take them from one party to another. It was the Belle Epoque, the Beautiful Era, and there was no doubt in the air but that everyone felt it and enjoyed it to the hilt.  
  
Everyone except the dark shape stalking over the rooftops. Everyone except the shadow of what might have been the Hunchback of fiction and legend that leaped from shingle to shale, watching.   
  
Finally he saw what he had been watching for; a young woman or man, most likely a prostitute (or courtesan, as they tended to call them in districts as rich as these) going from client to client, walking slow and alone through the streets. Whoever it was, the unfortunate's shoulders were hunched over as though expecting a beating, and his or her manner of dress was just a touch more ragged and worn than the rest of those in the Opera district. The hair was long, giving no hint to the sex of the person, but the frame and frailty of the creature suggested a woman, and young. Either way, a victim.  
  
A horrific smile curved the lips of the beholder, who clearly liked what he saw. Leaping with extraordinary agility for one so massive he landed without a sound on the cobblestones below. No one saw or heard a thing as the courtesan... prostitute... was grabbed by the shoulder and across the mouth and pulled into the alley.  
  
The long hair turned out to be misleading, as the hulking figure groped for the curvature of breasts and found none. Undaunted, he tore off the flimsy chemise that was like paper under his hands. The chest underneath was smooth, boyish, although the face was startlingly effeminate. The creature felt his breathing quicken at the prospect of sex, violence, and all with so beautiful a partner. He ran his fingers down the boy's chest once or twice, enjoying the perfection before the destruction, and then turned him and slammed him against the wall.  
  
"All right, all right..." the boy sighed. "There's no need for that. I know what you want."  
  
The giant hulking brute of the man towered over the boy, startled into silence. He watched, unmoving, as the boy divested himself of every piece of clothing he was wearing with the quiet dignity of a prince. He then turned, slowly, as though presenting himself for inspection, as though he were an animal at a market. The brute watched the whole show, enticed but rather puzzled.   
  
"What are you doing?" he growled. His voice, low and menacing and the terror of the Opera district for many months now, failed to raise so much as the gooseflesh on the boy's arms.  
  
"Not to your liking, then? Sorry..." the boy sounded anything but apologetic, and knelt down to pick up his torn and cast off garments. The monster of a man, enraged by the utter lack of response, slammed the boy against the wall by the throat.  
  
"I didn't say you could dress..." he snarled. The boy shrugged as best he could with a hand the size of his head around his throat.  
  
"Yessir..." he croaked.  
  
The boy was dropped. The brute towered over him, face curdled into an expression of inhuman rage. "Do you want to live?"  
  
"Of course..." the boy said, massaging his throat, sounding surprised at the question. "Don't you?"  
  
The massive form stepped back a pace, unsure what to do in the face of such calm acceptance. "Every animal wishes to live, down to the lowest life-form." The boy didn't even have the grace to look curiously at such erudite words from so bestial a face.   
  
They stared at each other, beast and boy, and for the first time since he had come into existence the creature felt something other than savagery, hatred, blood-lust and a thirst for destruction. Curiosity, he thought, was what it was called. Curiosity and a peculiar kind of fear at being confronted with a young boy more jaded than he was. And here he'd thought that was impossible. The boy was still watching him, his expression fading from curiosity to pity.   
  
"Look, I'm not about to stand here all day and do this. It's freezing out here, and you're going to have us both arrested. And I'm already in the registry, so I can't be arrested. There's a flat a little ways down, the owner won't be there at this time of night. She's off at a party."  
  
The larger man blinked, unsure what to say and completely at a lost for what to do. He briefly contemplated hitting the boy until his blood stained the pavement, but that would not give him satisfaction. He could take the boy now, but that... that... what was the boy doing?  
  
"My name is Adolphe," he said as he took the man's huge hand in his own and proceeded to lead him down the alley as though he was the child.   
  
"Edward..." the man found himself saying. "I am called Edward..." 


End file.
